5.25.06 / 12:41pm
When the child was a child, a day in the sun was the best thing that could be imagined, and tomorrow was a speck on the horizon. If noticed at all, it might be a bird, or a bug, or something more fantastic.
When the child was a child, the present moment was enough, and when it was done, another one was waiting.
I'm sitting here at my dining room table, the ruins of a pancake breakfast surrounding me, birdsong drifting in through the open back door. It's sunny, and there's a breeze. I feel it on my cheek as I write this.